


Pieces of You, Pieces of Me

by IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Asexual Garashir, Fluff, Humor, Intimacy, Julian And Garak Are Very Much In Love, Just So Rom-Com-y, Lifedrawing, M/M, Presents, Sleeptalking, Snippets, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, asdfghjk how many more vague tags can i write, but also some sad stuff, croquis, gift-giving, gratuitous cuteness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24631114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore/pseuds/IHidMyFaceFromYouNoMore
Summary: Snippets from day-to-day life in the lives of Julian and Garak.Some nights, some days, some nice, some sad. (But mostly fun!)
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

Garak has a peculiar expression on his face when he puts his fork down. “This stew — it has a taste like no other I've ever encountered before, dear.” 

“I know, it’s really something, isn’t it? The cinnamon really brings out the warmth and sweetness of the chilies. What do you think of the rice?” 

“It’s … saffron-y. But the stew, is it supposed to be this spicy?” Garak wheezes. He holds a hand to his collar-scales, as if trying to keep the mouthful down. 

“It’s more spiced than spicy, in my opinion. Besides saffron, chili, and cinnamon, there’s cumin, cayenne, black pepper, coriander, sweet bell peppers, and caramelized onions. It's okay if you don’t like it, don’t worry — what do you want me to replicate instead?” 

Julian reaches for Garak’s plate, but his hand is arrested by Garak’s. “No, no, it’s fine, don’t get up. It's just — quite a strong taste, and my mouth feels very hot, almost tingly …” 

“I suppose some are more susceptible to the capsaicin and ascorbic acids in chili — next time I'll replicate a milder version, don’t worry. I guess I've just gotten too used to the strength of hot foods, I didn’t even consider — Garak? Garak? Oh, my Go—” 

\- 

Garak lies in a biobed while Julian sits with his face in his hands beside him. The computer is finally beginning to show regular vitals and Garak’s face has returned to its normal teint, but Julian is devastated. 

“Honestly, I would have been fine.” 

Julian puts his hands away. “Garak, you were going into anaphylactic shock, you were most definitely not going to be fine.” 

“There’s nothing to be upset about. I'm fine — with or without medical intervention.” Garak mumbles the last part of his sentence. 

Julian sighs loud enough to make you think his soul had left his body. “I can’t believe I almost killed you on our first date night in weeks. Finally, we both have an evening to ourselves and then I go and do this — that’s why I'm upset.” 

Garak looks at Julian and understands. He reaches for Julian’s hand. He's about to say something he didn’t think he’d ever say. “I suppose we ought to do an allergy test round to make sure which of the damned spices to rule out for our next date night.” 

Julian knows that Garak would never consent to an allergy testing — if it wasn’t for an underlying reason. He takes his hand. “We can do that in the morning. First, I'd like to take us home. You're _fine_ after all.” 

“Fine, yes, but — oh, I think perhaps you ought to hold me as we walk to the turbolift. Who knows what other dangers lurk out there ...” 

Julian shakes his head briefly and helps Garak up. And he holds him around his shoulders all the way to their shared quarters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this was fun to read - and if you feel like it, comment what you think, I love reading comments !


	2. Chapter 2

“I just had a hell of a day. No, not — like, a hell of a day but not in an exciting way, in a —  dreadful way.” Julian deflates onto the chaise. 

Garak scoots closer. “Dreadful, really?” 

Julian lets out a sigh that carried all the weight of his recently finished shift at Sick Bay. “There was this mother — Bolian, actually — and her daughter, and the daughter needed a check-up because she wasn’t feeling too well. And I could immediately tell that something was off.” Julian turns his head to Garak, “Not just because she was sick, but because you could tell at a glance that she didn’t want her mum there. There was a strange energy between them — manipulative. The mum kept talking over her fully capable adult daughter like she was an infant. And of course, I kept trying to bypass the mum and talk directly to the daughter, but she kept butting in. But that wasn’t yet the dreadful part of the appointment.” 

Garak has been decanting some spring wine, now ready to pour while he listens. The drink is accepted by Julian’s tired hand. “Thank you. So, I ask the daughter all the standard questions you’d ask a Bolian with leg pains and my diagnosis was Fiykah’s syndrome. Quite harmless with a vaccination-treatment, so I offer this option to her. But before I can hear her reply, the mum grabs her, like, really _grabs_ hold of her shoulders —” Julian has a hopelessness in his eyes as he pauses. 

“She _screams_ at her, ‘how could you, you’re a disgrace’ and other abuse, just a — torrent of hate. At first, I freeze up, then I try to mediate and get the mum off of her for long enough to call security. The mother resisted, of course, and she begins screaming at me for protecting her ‘shameless’ daughter. Security were luckily nearby, they arrived in time to get her to calm down without having to tranquilize anyone.” 

Garak’s expression has changed from intrigued to quietly appalled. “But she managed to get you with her talons before that, I see.” There’s a dried-up sliver in the thin skin near Julian’s left temple. Garak touches it as if he can heal it with his fingerprint. 

“Yes, she lashed out at one point and I didn’t duck fast enough. Needless to say, she’s spending the night in the brig.” Julian leans a bit into the touch. “But once security had her in custody, I could approach the daughter. It didn’t take a professional to get that she’d suffered under her mum her whole life. She was so distraught, and for good reason. Me and nurse Jabara sat with her and comforted her until she was ready to receive treatment. And she told us why her mum had gotten so enraged. It turns out, Fiykah is heavily stigmatized among Bolians, it’s like it’s a stamp of immorality on your back if you’ve been diagnosed. She looked like she could have cried if Bolians could cry. She told us there was no chance she would ever be allowed to see her family now. When she eventually left, I took my break and — I couldn’t take anymore.” 

Julian wipes at his eyes, though it’s not much that comes out. It's just the tears of frustration making their way at last. Garak's hand still being on Julian’s temple lowers to help with the effort. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too.” Julian digs out a smile for Garak to show him through his distress. “I don’t usually get this upset over patients. And I've met some very harsh cases, but something about this woman —” Julian’s smile fades, “about — how her mother treated her — unforgivable —” Julian’s speech breaks apart and dissolves. Garak gently takes the glass from his hand and places it quickly somewhere else where it’s out of the way. He needs to hold Julian, because Julian needs it. Garak holds all the way around him, he buries Julian in Garak for the moment. It's been a working day, and Julian is held by Garak as he lets the tears leave him, one by one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't write a lot of sad fic, but when I do it always is a bit like this, a little vague and a little sad. 
> 
> If you feel like it, comment what you think, I love reading comments !


	3. Chapter 3

Garak rips a seam apart but accidentally rips something that wasn’t supposed to be ripped. He restrains himself from throwing the blasted tool to the floor, instead he boils with quiet indignation. Then he hears familiar footfalls approaching and composes himself a little extra. 

“Hope I'm not interrupting, but I just wanted to stop by to give you something.” Julian has a covered box in his hands and mischievous smile on his lips. “What’s the matter?” 

Garak can’t hide it from Julian. “I’ve been wrestling with this seam ripper all morning and if I ruin another garment because of this thing then I will surely throw myself from the nearest airlock.” 

Julian frowns in that funny way that he does. “Sounds dangerous to your mental wellbeing. Where is the offending tool? Can I see it? I might be able to help.” He tempts. 

Garak can’t stay annoyed. He hands Julian the little thing. The doctor twists it and looks inside the panel, pressing the screen for options. Quietly, Garak watches him help. 

Julian hands it over after a minute. “I don’t know if I did it the trick, but it looked like the frequency had gotten a bit too high.” 

Garak doesn’t even care anymore whether it’s fixed or not. “Thank you for coming over when I need you. Now, what was the thing you were going to give me?” 

Julian snaps back into the mindset he came through the door with. “Ah, right —” Julian hands him the box which had been abandoned on the workbench. 

Garak opens the obscure, cold container and is hit with a delightful scent. Sweet, honeyed, fresh. “Julian — you ...” 

“It’s dessert for tonight. I was too excited, I couldn’t wait to show you. I made the mousse myself. It's Delavian chocolate and orange rind meringue.” 

“You did, did you now?” Garak feels affection emanate from him. 

“Only with a little help from Commander Sisko.” Julian leans in for a kiss on Garak’s cheek. 

Garak turns to kiss him back, lingering to savor the moment. “Thank you, Julian.” 

They both know the mousse won’t make it all the way to that evening, not in Garak’s custody. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wished there was someone who'd do that for me whenever I'm having a bad day lol
> 
> If you feel like it, comment what you think, I love reading comments !


	4. Chapter 4

“Julian, dear, could you do me a favor?” 

Julian is changing into his pajamas for the night, fully intending on laying on the couch with Garak, eating sand-peas with a few pints until bedtime. He tugs the shirt over his head and turns to go back to the living room. 

“What is it?” Julian responds. Garak is miles ahead of him, he’s been in his night-time robe ever since Julian got home. He's lounging on the couch, watching a Cardassian ballet on the viewscreen and he’s got a little glass jar in one hand while the other is rubbing at his neck. 

“I forgot that I'm very overdue for a waxing on my back scales. Would you be so kind as to aid me? I can’t seem to reach all of them.” 

“Of course.” Julian springs into action. He sits next to Garak who turns his back to him. The robe slides off of Garak’s shoulders, revealing all of his matte scales. 

“Oh, I can tell they’re thirsting for a polishing. When was the last time you had them done anyway?” Julian digs two fingers into the soft wax in the jar. He spreads it between his palms to warm it up a bit. 

“Eh — does it matter?” Garak tries to act nonchalant. Julian is just about the only person that that doesn’t work on. He goes _tsk-tsk_ and puts his waxy palms to Garak’s shoulder-blades. 

Julian isn’t a physiotherapist, but he has massaged plenty of partners in his time. None were as interesting to massage as Garak, though — mostly because of his scales that rubbed back when Julian touched them, creating a unique sensory experience for both. Julian's fingers skate over the entirety of Garak’s back first, then slow down to push the wax into every crevice, — and there are many. There is a pattern, but it is irregular, and Julian maps it out by touch while Garak pretends to be absorbed in his ballet. He is just as alert of Julian’s tender touches and of the exploration happening on his scales. 

Julian makes sure to even cover the places that Garak can reach, just for good measure. He goes from the furthest scales on the shoulders to the lowest on the small of the back while kneading into Garak’s soft muscles. Scales aren’t hard things, they’re far more flexible than Julian would have thought before he and Garak started dating. He savors the opportunity to find knots in Garak’s spine that need straightening, and when he finds them, he gets a soft groan from the owner in return. 

Within no time, Julian has spread the thin layer of wax all over Garak’s back and he has to withdraw his hands for a while. He watches the screen while the substance sets itself. Once Garak’s back is dry to the touch, Julian is given a brush which he uses to gently polish the excess off. The result is satisfying as Julian reveals shiny, clean scales one by one. The beer can wait; this is relaxation for Julian. 

“All done.” Julian kisses a slow signature into Garak’s lower neck. Garak leans back into it. The robe is practically off at this point. Garak touches along the scales he can reach, he feels more refreshed and presentable than ever. Nobody does it better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved writing the sensory stuff here, trying to find the intimacy in a simple act of personal grooming.
> 
> If you feel like it, comment what you think, I love reading comments !


	5. Chapter 5

Julian removes his last piece of clothing, his left sock. “How do you want me?” 

Garak has his block of paper ready in his lap, and he reaches for his pencils. “Hmmm — I envisioned something casual, not too posed. If you lay your left hand on your left leg where you place your weight —” 

Julian complies. “Like this?” 

“Yes, and then — turn a little more toward me, straighten your feet … I’d like a bit more softness in your spine and turn your hip upwards. Just like that, yes.” 

Garak has recently taken up drawing as a hobby, and Julian was more than ready to help him out as a reference. Julian has indulged Garak many times with creative endeavors. Often as a live mannequin to try on commissions for clients with a similar form, which usually ends with Garak making a duplicate just for Julian’s body. Garak is of the belief that Julian could wear a shapeless blob of a dress and still look modelesque. If he wasn’t so damned educated and had such a zest for medical work, he could have turned out an excellent catalogue model. 

“Can you hold that for me for the next twenty or so minutes?” Garak readies his paper and gets comfortable at his desk. 

“Of course. What's this one for?” 

Garak makes the first stroke. It is paramount that you sketch out the general shape in the first ten seconds, so he does so fast. “I’ve been wanting to draw a scene with Hurec from _A_ _Neverending_ _Sacrifice_. Can you guess which scene from the book it is I'm thinking of?” 

Julian stands still even though his instinct is to gesture while he speaks. “Is it when he stands victorious at last, surveying Cardassia after overcoming his illness?” 

“Close, it’s when he returns to his work after being cured and he walks the long hallways proudly, his head held high as he pauses to watch his colleagues stare in disbelief. Turn your chin up a bit more, dear.” 

“Ah. That was one of the better parts of the whole book.” 

“I know, I know, you don’t particularly like it, but you don’t have to pretend for my sake.” 

“I’m not — that was truly one of the more emotionally driven scenes and it worked in the story’s favor. I didn’t expect Hurec to survive, not after his husband and kids hadn’t. I almost teared up when I read it.” 

Garak smiles as he defines one of Julian’s calves with his pencil. “Well, that’s true. But when we first discussed it long ago, I was under the impression that you hated it. You made that quite clear. I almost doubted if you and I were compatible after that.” 

Julian smiles, trying not to grin. “That’s silly. Or it’s silly to think about it now.” 

Garak shakes his head benevolently. He imagines Julian a few years ago, sitting in his quarters reading _The_ _Neverending_ _Sacrifice_. He sees the slightly younger Julian, frustrated at what he’s reading, but then — he comes to a turning point. And he begins to get misty-eyed — and when Julian gets to the end of the chapter, he puts down the PADD and dries his eyes. Garak smiles to himself. 

“I think I've got it now, dear.” 

Julian stretches a bit, then walks over to Garak’s chair and looks with him at the sketch. “It’s nice. Now you just need to add scales.” 

Garak snakes a hand around the nearest naked leg he can find. “That won’t be too hard to do.” 

“I can finally find out what I would look like had I been born Cardassian.” 

Garak also keeps the idea of Julian with scales in the privacy of his mind for now. He suddenly can’t wait to clean up the sketch and find out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have done a lot of life drawing in my time, and I can tell you that any advice presented here is true lol ! (It's what I've been taught that no matter how much time you have with the model, you have to make the general shape in less than 10 seconds, just putting that out there in case for some reason an art-enthusiast would read this lol)
> 
> If you feel like it, comment what you think, I love reading comments !


	6. Chapter 6

“Look at that — it’s so embarrassing.” Julian shows Garak where his racquetball suit has been torn, but he’s reluctant to be this much on display even with his partner. They are standing in the shop, which is a public place, after all. 

There's a stretched gash on the gray fabric of his innermost thigh. “I don’t know how it happened. But I'm afraid I'm getting too big for this suit.” 

Garak cautiously reaches out to touch the rim of the rip after Julian allows it. “It’s not so bad, my dear. I've got a laser that can get it seamlessly repaired in under thirty seconds.” He reaches into his register of tools, finding a nifty little thing. “You’re going to have to take it off first, though.” 

Julian gets help from Garak to unzip the back and he shimmies out of it. Garak can tell that it’s true, it’s gotten a bit too small for Julian, but he wonders how; it must have shrunk, that’s the only explanation that makes sense to him. 

When pulling it over his ribcage, Julian freezes up and looks down. “Oh God, there’s another one.” He puts his finger through a new rip in his armpit. Julian grows frustrated. “I may as well throw it out. If it’s going to keep ripping up, it wouldn’t be sustainable to keep wearing it just to repair it constantly.” Julian takes it all the way off, tugging a little harshly. 

Garak watches with a sympathetic glance in his eyes. “Hold on now. Let's not rush to conclusions, I want to try and see what I can do first, _then_ you can decide if you want to incinerate it.” He finds the holes and mends them. But when Garak pulls at the stretchy fabric again, the holes pop open. Garak makes a concerned noise. 

“How have you been cleaning it all these years?” 

“I’ve used the same setting I use for all sonic cleaning of my clothes. Why?” 

“Oh, dear. That might have done it. The material is disintegrating after too rough a setting and too many years of continual cleaning.” 

Julian feels the realization dawning upon him. “Oh.” 

Garak comforts him with a hand on his arm. “I would say my goodbyes to it. It has served you a great deal in its lifespan, but it’s time to let go.” 

Julian is downtrodden for a bit but recovers. He hands it over to Garak to place it in his incinerator. 

\- 

“Garak, I don’t understand — you don’t play racquetball, why did you ask me to go for a match with you?” Julian walks with Garak to the changing rooms in the sports pylon. 

“Because, my dear, you’re going to play racquetball again. Probably not with me, but you will.” By ‘probably’, Garak means ‘definitely’. They swipe through the doors and Julian’s excitement and confusion grows. 

Inside the changing area, Garak turns around with the duffel-bag he’s been carrying. He unzips it and pulls out a garment. “I made some subtle modifications to the design, but it should fit you nicely. And don’t clean it too roughly now.” 

Julian beholds the suit; it’s still the pearly white top and shimmery metal bottom with a stripe across the bust, but it somehow looks more — luxurious. It's cleaner, the seams are nicer, and the pearlescent effect of the fabric is stronger. Julian lights up. He starts to remove his uniform. 

It fits like nothing ever has on Julian before. It isn’t sagging in some places and too tight in others like his old one was. His trainers somehow feel better too, they aren’t rubbing against the hem of the ankles. 

Julian throws his arms around Garak who hugs him back. “I can’t believe that you’d do that for me.” 

“It wasn’t much.” Garak lies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've loved that hideous racquetball suit since the moment I first saw it and I will incorporate it anywhere I see fit.
> 
> If you feel like it, comment what you think, I love reading comments !


	7. Chapter 7

Cardassians don’t talk in their sleep. This is why Garak was startled when he first experienced Julian mumbling in their bed. 

One night, Garak woke to the sound of Julian speaking to him — or so he thought. Julian wasn’t saying anything _to_ Garak, his brain was just processing his dreams verbally. Garak didn’t understand why Julian wasn’t responding to his questions, so he went back to sleep, still a little startled. 

“Oh, I'm sorry about that,” Julian tells him after his first sip of Raktajino the following morning, “I’ve been told I tend to talk in my sleep sometimes. Usually it’s more frequent when I'm a little stressed, so it’s not surprising that I'm mumbling for the nurse to hand me a scalpel and such. We're operating on an Andorian in an hour and I'm not feeling super confident about it.” 

“So you talk, but you can’t hear yourself because you’re still sleeping as this happens?” Garak tries to understand. 

“Yes, or whatever I'm talking about in the real world is what I'm saying in my dreamworld.” 

Garak nods, thinking that that would be that. But the next night, Garak awakens to something different. He turns to see Julian, eyes flickering behind his eyelids, mouth slightly agape, deep in sleep. 

“It’s in the drawer... In the bottom drawer... It’s in the drawer...” Julian whispers with heavy lips, not the speech of a conscious person. 

Garak knows he won’t get an answer, but he still whispers back: “What’s in the drawer, dear?” 

“It’s... In the drawer... In the drawer... Don’t forget, important...” Julian nearly drools through his words, they’re so slurred. 

But Garak is now wide awake. _The drawer?_ His instinct for detecting secrets turns on. But he eventually lays the thought aside and falls back to sleep. 

In the morning, Julian kisses him goodbye to leave for work, and Garak is still snugly dozing in the blankets. He slowly awakens in his own time, getting up to take a sonic shower. Then he remembers what happened in the dead of night just as he’s combing his hair. _The drawer._

Changed back into his clothes, Garak approaches the bedroom again, looking intently on the nightstand. It has three little drawers. _It’s silly, I know, but —_

Garak can’t curb his curiosity, he opens each drawer but finds nothing to ease his suspicions. There isn’t much inside them, just balms and reading glasses and trinkets. _But didn’t he specifically say the bottom drawer?_ Garak follows the lead and looks more closely inside the bottom drawer. 

Nothing stands out. Garak wonders if he’s in the wrong area, it’s not the only chest of drawers in their quarters. He searches the living room, in which Julian has his armoire of memorabilia. Garak never goes through either of these drawers, so he is arrested by all the things he finds along the way. _He certainly loves a keepsake_. Garak hasn’t seen half of these things, little souvenirs from trips and notes from friends. He almost forgets his mission. 

Garak looks in the large bottom drawer. It's the one that’s most tidy of all of them, it isn’t swimming in things like the other ones. But there isn’t much to see until Garak presses down on the bottom panel and realizes that it’s loose. With a little finesse, he lifts up the panel to reveal a hidden compartment. _Oh, Julian... I most certainly didn’t expect this from you._

But what reveals itself when Garak sets the panel aside is just a small etui, embossed with velvet lying on the bottom of the compartment. Garak realizes now that he’s not supposed to be seeing this. Sure, he wasn’t supposed to snoop at all but when he picks up the case, he can sense that it’s a serious matter. His thumb is about to open the little clasp, but his mind tells him no. His curiosity didn’t win that day after all. The panel goes back in its place and the things from the drawer are placed back in their original position. Garak closes the drawer knowing that he has done the right thing. 

\- 

Garak comes home that evening knowing that he and Julian have a dinner ahead of them. He can tell immediately that it’s a special night because Julian has replicated ‘live’ candles and there’s a scent of Garak’s favorite perfume in the air. He sneaks through to find Julian standing at the Replicator, readying some dishes. Garak is silent on his feet and he manages to get up in Julian’s ear, and right as Julian’s hands aren’t occupied, Garak whispers: “Hello, my dear.” 

Julian understandably jumps in place with a shriek followed by a grin. He turns and is embraced by Garak. “I didn’t even hear the door, my goodness, Garak!” 

“It was impossible to resist.” Garak says and kisses Julian who eagerly kisses him back. Julian only pulls away because of his pragmatic sensibilities: “The food will get cold. Sit down.” 

Garak sits but Julian, curiously, does not. “Hold on. I've got something to give you before we dig in.” And he walks to the living room. Garak's intuition tells him what’s about to happen; he gets even more excited about what the night will bring. 

Julian returns not too long after, and Garak’s pulse quickens when he sees that Julian has his hand behind his back. Julian sits down at last. “Garak, I — have something for you.” Julian pauses as if he is about to say more, but instead he goes: “You know what, I'm just going to let it speak for itself.” He presents the little etui and Garak’s excitement reaches its peak. 

He accepts it, feeling the little case again in his hands. His thumb is allowed to flick the lock open and Garak sees the content of it. It glints in the low light. Garak's jaw could have dropped open if he hadn’t had so much restraint. 

He lifts the ring out of the box. It's heavy in his fingers, but the design is light, elegant. He shifts his gaze back to Julian who looks as if he could burst with joy. 

“It’s silver. I thought it’d look good against your skin — and your eyes, your hair, everything.” Julian is obviously nervous about Garak’s reaction; he still hasn’t said anything. 

“Julian … Why do I deserve something so lovely now of all times?” 

“I like to celebrate anniversaries. And if my math is correct, we’ve been — _together_ for a year. Precisely a year by tonight. And I wanted to give you something to remember it by.” 

Despite the snooping around that morning, Garak knows now that he was nowhere near prepared for this. All he can do is repeat Julian’s name. 

When he eventually slips the ring on, it sits beautifully on his left little finger. Julian kisses his hand with a smile. Garak thinks he’s going to cry, but he decides to bottle it. He'll hide it away in his own secret compartment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love a rom-com trope of 'partner finds secret gift and has to deal with the consequences' and the implications of it. 
> 
> If you feel like it, comment what you think, I love reading comments !


	8. Chapter 8

“My dear, what are you in such a rush for?” Garak looks up from his PADD to watch his partner rummage about. Garak was reading a newsletter before Julian had entered their compartment. He hadn’t looked up until he realized Julian was leaving so soon again after darting around their rooms for some reason. 

Julian looks at Garak but doesn’t say anything before Garak comments again: “And dressed to kill — I'm sure I can guess where you’re going, but why with such haste?” 

Julian gestures at himself with a defensive grin. “What, this? Obviously, I'm going to the Holosuites with some of the other crew. It's a Dixon Hill program — you know, 1940’s Earth style, gangsters, shootouts …" Julian pulls his white trilby that matches his suit down a bit more. “I’m running late, sorry. I'll be back on time, though.” 

Garak smiles with no underlying intentions. “Enjoy yourself. I'll be standing by with dinner.” 

“Yep, okay, bye —” Julian turns and heads for the door. 

Garak listens for the door swishing shut again. Then he looks down at his PADD, but a thought crosses his mind first. _But tonight’s not Holosuite night: that’s on Tuesdays._ But he lays that thought aside and keeps reading. 

When Julian returns that same evening, Garak is laying out the steaming quesadillas on their dining table. Julian is about to sit down but Garak stops to look at him. “You’re still dressed for adventure, I see.” 

Julian tries to act natural. “Hm? What, I just like the suit, is all.” 

“Funny, you usually change back after a visit to the Holosuites. Isn't it hot under that jacket and wool vest of yours?” Garak asks, adjusting their forks meanwhile. 

It was true, especially because they were now living together; from the beginning, they had decided to adjust the room temperature to meet Garak’s need for warmth. Julian feels a bit of sweat trickling down his collar upon hearing Garak’s comment. “I might take the jacket off, you’re right.” He shuffles out of it. 

Garak accepts the jacket politely. “And may I take your hat, good sir?” Garak offers a smile and a hand. 

“That’s alright, mister.” Julian jokes back. 

“But from all those old films you’ve shown me, don’t the hats come off at a traditional Earth dinner? I thought it was part of their table manners.”

Julian hesitates. “... But I _like_ the hat. I mean, it’s not as strict as that, Garak, it’s not like we’re in an old Christian church or something. It's not impolite to keep it on.” 

“But it is … _odd_.” Garak’s eyes sharpen. 

Julian tries to blow it off casually. “Lay off, it’s only a hat. Now, these quesadillas look great, which program did you —” 

“It _is_ only a hat, true. So why won’t you remove it when I ask you to?” 

Julian gives up. He makes a noise of discomfort, looking away guiltily to avoid Garak’s gaze. “Something happened.” 

Garak's demeanor changes; he notices the seriousness in Julian’s tone and matches it. “What, what happened?” 

“It’s probably best that you sit down. And please, please keep in mind that it’s temporary.” 

Garak complies, but he’s suspicious as he lowers himself into the chair. Julian does the same. He gathers the strength to remove the trilby. 

Garak grips the tablecloth and nearly gasps. His eyes sting immediately, he has to look away before he can look again. 

Julian's hair — what’s always been a lustrous, perfectly coiffed and airy hairdo — has been reduced to an uneven stack of hay sticking to his scalp. His bangs are choppy, and the hat clearly didn’t help with the styling. Julian looks miserable. 

Garak musters up his words again. “Who — _who_ did this?” 

Julian is as embarrassed as Garak is aghast. “... There’s a new barber on the Promenade. He was so _nice_ , it was that funny Andorian kid —” 

Garak is losing all his sense of decorum with each new bit of information hitting him. “An _Andorian_ , Julian? You looked at an _Andorian_ and thought that he would be a suitable _hairdresser_?” 

“He was so nice! I couldn’t say anything … and I try not to judge, Garak. I assumed he was trained in other haircuts than the current Andorian style. It would only make sense! _You_ don’t just make Cardassian tunics, right?” Julian puts his hat back on in shame. 

Garak sinks into his chair, lamenting that he didn’t even get to say goodbye to Julian’s locks. “If my days in the Obsidian Order weren’t behind me, that hairdresser would be getting what he deserves, I tell you.” 

Julian knows that Garak isn’t serious, but it still feels bad. “See, that’s why I was anxious about telling you right away, I can see how upset you are. I thought I could get away with wearing a hat for at least a little while, see if I could salvage it tomorrow ...” 

“What, you’d sleep with a cap on? Nothing suspicious about that.” Garak lightens the mood. 

Julian musters a smile and takes the hat off again to try and muss his hair into a marginally better style. “I loved my hair... And I know how much _you_ love my hair. What am I going to do…" He slumps into the chair. 

Garak makes a thinking face. “I may be a simple tailor, but —” he gets up to roam the nearby dresser, “I think I might still have my kit …" 

Julian frowns in surprise. “ _You_ can do hair?” 

“I can’t make any guarantees — aha!” Garak pulls a leather pouch from the drawer. Out comes scissors and combs that he shows off with a flourish of a hand. “Yes, I can’t guarantee that it will rival your old hairdresser, I am a bit rusty in my technique after being inactive for so long — but I can make an attempt at salvaging … _this_.” He cautiously touches Julian’s hair, recoiling a bit at the feel of the product the Andorian must have used in it. The hairs have clumped into crunchy sections. Garak tells Julian that he needs to get him in the bath first if they are ever going to mend anything. 

After dinner, Julian complies and one bath later they’re sitting in front of the vanity in the bedroom, Garak combing and trimming Julian to even him out. Garak is absorbed in watching the movement of the scissors and Julian is fixed on watching Garak in the mirror. 

Julian likes how Garak gently pulls at his hair to study the lengths before cutting into them ever so little. And once every so often, Garak uses both hands to filter Julian’s hair through his fingers to compare each side for best accuracy. Because there’s not a lot left to work with, Garak is practically massaging Julian’s scalp. Julian leans his neck back a little, letting Garak have at it. 

Garak is judging whether there’s a micrometer too much on one side, his eyes are very serious in the mirror. Julian notices, and smiles, thinking about what a perfectionist he really is. After a quick blow-dry, Julian is very nearly back to normal, albeit very cropped. Although his hair is the shortest it’s been in years, it holds its shape somewhat. Garak musses it around to try and jostle his memory as to what it’s exactly meant to look like; he won’t let Julian leave the chair without Garak having done the most he can. 

With a coating of styling wax on his palms, Garak runs them through the hairs and feels them into a shape that resembles his memory. 

“Garak?” 

“Hm — yes, dear?” 

“If you were always this good at hair styling, why didn’t you offer your services to me before now?” 

Garak chuckles. “Because, my dearest, you would never be able to go back to another stylist that can match my abilities. And also I didn’t know when to ask. You were very satisfied with Kubra before he transferred to Bajor — I didn’t want to step on his toes.” 

Julian chuckles also. “So much for all that modesty you exhibited earlier. And I'll have you know that there won’t be another hairdresser from now on.” He looks him in the eye through the mirror. 

Garak brushes some more stray hairs off Julian’s nape with a smile. He puts his kit back in the drawer, but not so far back that he won’t easily be able to find it again. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any thoughts, please comment them ! I love to read comments.


End file.
